


Some kind of otherness

by gloss



Category: Captain America, Invaders
Genre: 16+, Golden Age, M/M, WWII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-27
Updated: 2007-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gratuitous fucked-up shippiness. Golden Age & Captain America v.5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some kind of otherness

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Auden](http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/6092-W-H-Auden-Are-You-There-).

"You'd have to be crazy to like him," Toro concludes. His brow wrinkles up as he squints into the distance and purses his lips. "Crazy."

"Yeah, I guess," Bucky says and flops down onto his back. London's summer is blazing white and hot and g-d _boring_. They've run through their entire comic collection, gone to the pictures, snuck into three different pubs, and he's _still_ itching for some action. He tugs his undershirt out of his pants and yanks it over his head before rolling over. Bare-chested's good enough for Toro, so it's good enough for him.

"He's...mean," Toro adds and the last thing Bucky thinks he can bear is Toro lying down next to him, pressed close; Toro's skin is _always_ hot, and now it's feverish, but something shifts inside Bucky's skin. Daggers, almost, fiery, that make him turn onto his side and roll on top of the kid. Toro blinks up at him, smiling shyly. "He's mean, and loud, and _dirty_. Don't you think he's dirty?"

Bucky closes his eyes, sees the grime on Fury's face during their last mission, sweat streaking silver through his stubble, down his hairy chest. "Can't argue with that. Dirty."

"Mm-hmm." Toro's smile curves, still shy, becoming a little teasing. His lips are red as a girl's, as fire, as the butt of Fury's stinking cigar. But they taste nothing like any of those - not sticky-sweet, or asbestos-harsh, or tobacco-savory - just light and flickering and _right_.

Toro's fingertips skate down Bucky's back, drawing fire through the sweat. Once his shorts are pulled down, he springs hot and thick into Bucky's hand, and everything's coming together, antsy-action and fever-spiking desire. Toro croons, hands on Bucky's shoulders, as he comes and never guesses that Bucky's thinking of a hairy chest wide as two of Toro's.

*

"Just like _that_ ," Fury growls, half a century and long ice-choked dreams later, no trace of sweetness in the way he curls Bucky's hair in his fingers and _pulls_ , pumps his hips until Bucky half-chokes, half-wheezes. "Good. _Boy_ \--"

Fury twists and rears, dick popping from Bucky's lips and slipping from his grasp, and shoots across Bucky's cheek. The deserted warehouse is dark, cold with November chill, the only warm thing the sound of Fury's voice and slap of his dick on Bucky's face. His grip softens and he pulls Bucky to his feet by the metal arm, licking him clean with a tobacco-slicked tongue and cupping his groin.

Fury's smirk is old as anything, more familiar than Bucky's own body, as he unzips Bucky's fly and reaches in. His touch is hard with calluses and nails; Bucky's exposed thighs prickle in the cold. He wraps the metal arm around Fury's neck for balance and fucks the loose fist, biting the inside of his cheek, thinking of a boy on fire with a song on his lips.

He's always been out of time.


End file.
